


Eddie My Love (I Love You So)

by phantom81



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Homophobic Language, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-12-27 22:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantom81/pseuds/phantom81
Summary: Richie was straight. And those were just words. Words that cut a little too deep and make him think of Eddie 'don't-fucking-touch-me' Kaspbrak. With his stupid cast and stupidly cute face and stupid everything. Eddie was stupid. Stupid for always being in his head. Stupid for always making him think stupid things that would make him end up on one of those stupid missing posters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the working title for this was "what if i projected onto richie tozier... haha jkjk... unless? 😳😳"

Richie's parents had wanted a girl. Even Richie himself knew that. And sure, it would occasionally get to him that he wasn't _ right _ . He wasn't what his parents had wanted. He swore and flipped people off and he didn’t wear dresses and he didn't ask for dolls for his birthday. And even though he told himself he didn't care about anyone's opinions, he wanted to live up to his parents' expectations. Deep down, he wanted them to love him— he wanted _ someone _to love him. Anyone? Anyone at all?

But hell, if he didn't feel loved when he was around the rest of the losers. He felt... happy. And it was almost as if he didn't need to put up a front. _ Almost _. Deep down he realized that they would grow up, they would realize that they didn't need him anymore and toss him out with the rest of the trash.

That's what happens to kids like him. You step out of line and you're the target of Henry Bowers and his gang. Either being cut up at the kissing bridge or being spat on in an alleyway or... or being called _ things _ . _ Things _that Bowers called everyone he didn't like, but— for some reason— the words hit Richie a little harder.

But Richie wasn't any of those things that they called him. He wasn't a queer. No. _ Never _. Not even a thought of anything remotely gay. Just girls. Yeah, that sounded right. Richie was straight. And those were just words. Words that cut a little too deep and make him think of Eddie 'don't-fucking-touch-me' Kaspbrak. With his stupid cast and stupidly cute face and stupid everything. Eddie was stupid. Stupid for always being in his head. Stupid for always making him think stupid things that would make him end up on one of those stupid missing posters.

That's what happened to people like him. You get a little too friendly with another guy and then you're gone. And every time Richie closed his eyes, he saw the stupid poster with his face on it. So, no matter how much he wanted to pretend like other peoples' words didn't affect him, they did. Every time he was called a fairy, he felt his hands get sweaty. He thought they would figure out that just maybe he liked guys more than he should. And it _wasn't_ fine. It wasn't fine because that's what people would say about you if you were. They would say you would go to hell; you would burn for eternity and then a little bit longer after that. And it wasn't as if Richie was afraid of what they said. He was only afraid of clowns. And, sure, it could be argued that he was afraid of a bit more than just clowns. That he was afraid of himself. But that didn't make for many good jokes, so he stuck with what he knew. Swear words and slurs and hand gestures that would get him marked as a 'problem child.'

It's not like Richie was queer. He was queer when it was equated to being odd, to being different. He was queer in that sense, but not _ gay _. He just liked Eddie a bit more than most guys like their friends, and if that got him marked as a 'problem,' then he would suck it up. It wasn't as if he could take all the parts of himself that he didn't like and put a bolt between its' eyes.

He knew that he would never get rid of those labels. They would follow him when he left Derry even if he didn't really know why those words made him feel so awful. Even if he didn't remember why exactly he couldn't fall in love with anyone after leaving that stupid town. Even if he didn't know why he got all weird and nervous around guys in polo shirts and short shorts. Bonus points if he had asthma.

He didn't know why he felt so odd,

(_ it was because a part of him was missing, left back in Derry, left back in the Barrens, left back in the clubhouse Ben had made for them, left back in the hammock with Eddie Kaspbrak) _

but he assumed it was something miniscule, unimportant and far away. That was until he got that phone call from Mike. A guy he didn't remember saying he was a childhood friend from some small town in Maine called _ Derry _. And he suddenly remembered why. It was horrifying, realizing that a part of yourself was missing for so long without your knowledge. He remembered the names he was called. How much that town screwed him up for the rest of his life. How screwed up he was. And even after leaving Derry and forgetting he knew he was screwed up; he just didn't know how badly screwed up he was until he was walking into that restaurant and seeing a guy he thought he never knew and suddenly feeling love again.

Emotions rushed back to him suddenly and he felt like throwing up again. Instead of blowing chunks in Jade of the Orient, however, he decided to be as annoying as possible for the next hour. And he signaled the beginning of this by banging a gong. It seemed pretty reasonable to him: remembering the feelings you had for your childhood crush never went away after twenty-seven years and then desperately trying to turn his attention towards you. Perfectly normal.

Normal: like how after a single shot, Eddie was telling Richie that they should take their shirts off and kiss. As if that wasn't earth-shatteringly horrific for Richie to hear. But it wasn't horrific in the way a killer clown was, it was more horrific in the way that Richie suddenly realized that he wanted nothing more than to kiss Eddie. He could do without the shirt-taking-off bit, but holy fuck did he want to kiss Eddie. And he heard the voice of Henry Bowers in the back of his mind calling him a queer, saying that people like him weren't welcome in Derry. So, he took another shot and decided to arm wrestle, ignoring the overbearingly loud pounding of his heart in his ears when Eddie grabbed his hand. 

His mind flashed to countless times Eddie had touched him before. It was usually slaps on the arm accompanied by "shut the fuck up, Richie," but there was a rare occasion where the memory filled him with warmth and fear all at once. There was something lurking in the back of his mind at all times. Festering in his brain and making his heart beat faster, his hands get sweaty. He wasn't quite sure what it was, and he wasn't quite sure if he _ wanted _to know what it was. He attempted to avoid that fear for as long as possible, savoring the good things he remembered and trying so hard to push out the bad memories. Something about a clown that he didn't want to think about for much longer. And then Eddie was talking again, and Richie focused on him. The way he smiled when he talked about his job even though it was the most boring thing Richie had ever heard. Sometimes he would say something so profoundly annoying just so Eddie would look at him. It didn't matter that it was a half-assed, tipsy glare because it was Eddie Kaspbrak. And Richie was sure that he had never loved anyone more. 

Sure, he was still a hypochondriac and he scrunched up his nose when he saw the peeling wallpaper in the Derry Town House, but Richie thought he was perfect. Cute and still the spitfire that he was slowly beginning to remember. It was odd, having these feelings rushing back before he even fully remembered who Eddie was. A part of his mind was still screaming at him for feeling this way, saying that he was a _ dirty stupid useless queer _in the voice of Henry Bowers. At first there was even an attempt to ignore it. But then he went to get his artifact and remembered a bit more than he had wanted to and he decided that he was done with Derry. He was packing his shit and getting the hell out of dodge before someone realized that he liked guys and he was back at square one. A friendless, stupid, trashmouth with thick-ass glasses because without them he wouldn't be able to see three feet in front of him without them.

He had pressed the token so hard into his palm that you could read the text backwards off of his hand. Richie kept his hands tucked in his pockets while he dashed up the stairs with his eyes stinging and declared he was done with this. He couldn't do it anymore. And when he was packing, Ben was suddenly there to trick him into staying. No way in hell. But what could he say to Ben's pleas for him to say? 

(_ "Sure, yeah. I'll stay and get outed by some homophobic clown. Sounds great, man. And to top it all off I'll probably get fucking murdered. Sounds like a great Summer." _)

So instead he told Ben, "Sure, I'll stay," and then made a mad dash for his car. They could defeat that dumbass clown by themselves. They'd do that stupid ritual thing that Mike was so proud of discovering and they'd be fine. Eddie would be fine.

Eddie.

_ You have to go back for Eddie. What if he gets hurt? What if he dies and you're not there to save him? _Is what his brain helpfully supplied. Nice thought, brain. 

If Beverly had seen them all die, then she'd tell Eddie if he was going to die soon, right? And then Eddie would tell Richie and they'd leave together, run off somewhere. Shit, no. Eddie had a wife. Eddie had a _ real _ job. That's what his mom would say. _ Comedy isn't a real job; you can't make a reliable career with your stupid jokes _. And there was his dad. He was pretty sure they were both dead now. He hoped so, then felt bad for hoping so. They were horrible parents, they were never around, they were a stupid pair of drunks that would tell Richie what he was doing wrong any opportunity they got. But deep down he felt guilty for not wanting to see them. He had felt guilty when he severed all connection with them and flung himself over to New York. And he still feels guilty now. Guilty that he doesn’t love them even though they never did anything all that great for him in his childhood— or even after his childhood, for that matter. Guilty for saying that Stanley was too much of a pussy to come back to Derry. 

_ Guilty, guilty, guilty. _

That’s when Richie had seen a synagogue in the distance, and he briefly contemplated swerving into traffic to forget about the surge of memories that hit him. Instead, he parked and walked in, his eyes lingering on the board outside that read _ In Memory of Stan Uris _. He slumped into a pew and looked around. It was exactly the same as it was twenty-seven years ago, everything just nice enough to make it look like the city gave a damn about them. They’d say they were accepting and then forcefully ignore people like him. People like Stanley. And when Richie so much as thought of the name, he saw him standing up there, microphone in hand, inching away from his dad as he spoke. 

“Even though I’m supposed to become a man today, I know I’m a loser, and I always _ fucking _will be.”

Richie remembered standing up and clapping for a brief moment before his mom tugged on his suit jacket and pulled him back down so he would sit still. As if she could ever get him to sit still. His leg would be bouncing, or he would be running his mouth, or drumming his fingers against the pew in front of him so the person sitting there would turn around and give him a nasty look. He had made a few jokes about it onstage— on the rare occasion he went off-script— that got him a few good laughs and people coming up to him after, telling him he was inspiring for talking about his ADHD onstage. And he would feel warm and fuzzy until his manager yelled at him for not sticking to what was written for him. And he would always want to bite back that people enjoyed it more when he went off-script, but he never did. Someone in the back of his head would tell him to _ sit down _ and _ shut the fuck up Richie _and he would just nod along. 

“Thanks for showing up, Stanley.” He lightly joked, a pained smile making its way onto his face. He hunched over and rubbed his eyes under his glasses— the thick frames bumping against his fingers and skewing slightly. He took a few deep breaths and tried his best to push that nagging, shrill voice out of his head. 

_ Eddie _.

His brain chimed in.

_ You have to go back for Eddie. And if you leave then that dumbass clown is going to tell everyone. He’s going to tell everyone that you’re a disgusting fucking faggot and they’ll hate you. _ Eddie _ will hate you if you leave. _

“Shit, shit, shit.” Richie hissed, running his hands through his hair nervously before tucking them back into his pockets. He was right, he had to go back. Even if that stupid clown was going to be there.

He took a deep breath and stood up, shuffling his way out of the pews. He gave a weak wave to the empty room behind him. “See ya, Stan the man.”

His car was waiting for him outside— the only thing he could rely on before he came to Derry, before he remembered that he had a family— and he slammed his head on the steering wheel when he sat down. Richie didn’t want to go back. Getting murdered wasn’t on the agenda when Mike called and said he had to come home. Richie wasn’t sure what _ was _ on the agenda, but he didn’t think it was remembering childhood trauma in vivid detail and potential death. And, sure—he reasoned with himself— it wasn’t _ all _ shitty memories. Some of it was… some of it was _ Eddie _ . And even though he had a wife and probably wasn’t interested in dudes— let alone Richie _ fucking _Tozier— his chest still tightened when he saw him, his heartbeat sped up to the point where Eddie would probably declare Richie had arrhythmia and rush him to a hospital as fast as he could. Even thinking about him now made Richie’s face heat up. He and Ben were the only two left in the group that weren’t married. He couldn’t fathom how Ben didn’t find a wife; he looked like every Brazilian soccer player amalgamated into one person. Looking at himself, on the other hand, it was pretty clear in his eyes why he wasn’t married. It seemed as if the rest of the Losers looked incredible and then there was him. 

_Oh_, and Eddie looked _wonderful_. Still cute and short— he ignored the rant Eddie went on when he declared that five-foot-eight was average height for a man. Richie, on the other hand, looked like he’s done nothing but smoke crack for the past twenty-seven years. He hated the bags under his eyes and the way he never quite knew what to do with his hands. Even when he stuffed them in his pockets, he reckoned that everyone knew that he didn’t know what to do with his hands. That _everyone_ knew that he wasn’t as confident as he came off. That _everyone _knew that deep down he was so terrified of people knowing too much about who he really was.

Richie remembered that he was driving when the person beside him honked and shouted, “Use your turn signals, asshole!” He gave them a tight but polite smile— a lesser man would have wanted to street race, but anyone who grew up in Derry knew that those either ended with someone getting beat up or _ going missing _. And the only way Richie would want to go missing was because of 

(_ what was Its’ name again? _)

Pennywise. And Eddie would be at his side if he died and Richie would tell him how he felt. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe Richie would just keep all of his feelings inside of him and then finally kick the bucket. That sounded nice. 

He was back at the Derry Town House after what felt like hours of arguing with himself, going back and forth and wondering if dying was worth it to make sure no one found out. He felt bile claw its way up his throat for the seemingly millionth time in the past two days and willed it back down as he pushed the doors open.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie bellowed a mighty “beep beep motherfucker!” before everything went white. It was a painful kind of white— the kind of white that would be in a hospital— sterile and barren and overwhelmingly like Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a pining bitch so all the characters i write are also pining bitches

Richie bellowed a mighty “beep beep motherfucker!” before everything went white. It was a painful kind of white— the kind of white that would be in a hospital— sterile and barren and overwhelmingly  _ like Eddie _ . He vaguely wondered how Pennywise knew so much about them. If it billowed off of them in waves like their fear did when he looked at them. If their personalities and hopes and dreams and promises and  _ fears  _ hovered around them in some mismatched cloud of  _ person  _ that couldn’t be seen by anyone else. Thank God they couldn’t see seen by anyone else, or else Richie would’ve  _ gone missing  _ a long, long time ago. Back in the Summer of 1989, when he had really and truly fallen for Eddie Kaspbrak. 

But when the blindingly white light faded, he saw a bathtub. His eyes went wide as he remembered the call from Patty Uris.

_ “It was so awful… how it happened… in the bathtub...” _

And he remembered how Beverly had said the words before Patty had. 

_ “…in the bathtub…” _

Richie felt thick, bitter bile— too close to acid for it to not be another one of Pennywise’s tricks— climb its way up his throat and the string made his eyes water. He tried to step closer, but he was stuck. He heard

( _ distant screams)  _

the  _ drip, drip, drip  _ of blood onto the floor. Little crimson drops one after the other like peas spilling from a pod onto the kitchen floor. He swore he could feel

_ (something warm and cold all at the same time running up the side of his nose) _

an icy cold blanketing him, immobilizing him and making it impossible to move, to speak, even if he wanted to. Then there was warmth. Warm, comforting hands that he couldn’t see grabbing his arms and someone hovering over him that he couldn’t make out just yet. His eyes showed the world through a fuzzy lens for a few moments before he registered that it was Eddie.

_ It’s alright, nothing can go wrong. It’s Eddie. Eddie is here with you and he’s talking, he’s saying… something… quick, pay attention, dumbass! _

“—ey, Rich, wake up! Hey! Yeah, yeah, there he is, buddy! Hey, Richie, listen! I think I got it, man! I think I killed it! I did! I think I killed it for real—”

Time never moves in slow motion. Sometimes we perceive it does, when something really, truly horrible happens. For both Richie and Eddie, time was moving at a snail’s pace as they took in the features of one another’s faces. 

“Richie…” His voice sounded weak, like when you have something stuck in your throat and all your words come out raspy and mucus-covered. The only thing coming out of Eddie mouth at the moment was blood. Thick and dark, almost black, like he was coughing up ink. He looked down at Richie with so much pain in his eyes, so much terror. Eddie looked so… helpless, so fragile. All the things he most definitely  _ wasn’t.  _ Eddie was strong and brave and didn’t take shit from anybody. He was… he was…

“...Richie…” Eddie’s eyes were wide, searching for something. There was a scream— Beverly— and he blinked.  _ Once, twice, three times,  _ trying to blink the vision of Eddie’s 

( _ no don’t say he’s dying he’s not dying he can’t die not yet not without me _ )

dying body out of his head. It didn’t go away. He wanted to scream, he wanted to say something to comfort Eddie. The Eddie in front of him with the big claw that sliced through him like a hot knife through butter. The Eddie from back in 1989, with the clunky cast and the fake medicine that could cure everything. The Eddie that he had remembered less than a day ago, the Eddie he never wanted to forget again. And he was being torn away from him like he was a child growing out of their safety blanket. And it was just like that. Richie  _ needed  _ Eddie. He needed him so badly in his life and he didn’t realize why he felt so hollow for so long but now he does. That gaping hole in his chest was filled by Eddie. He was missing Eddie for twenty-seven years and didn’t know it until just then. Eddie made him whole again, and Pennywise was slowly tearing that piece of him away. 

“ _ Eddie _ …” Richie breathed, pathetic and small with his brain functioning about as well as the projector in Bill’s garage. Stuttery like the man himself and scrambled. With a broken lens that Eddie’s blood dripping onto. Dripped from his  _ mouth— from his mouth isn’t normal, that’s not where blood is supposed to do, it’s supposed to stay in your body _ — onto Richie’s shocked, silent body.

_ It’s not fair. It’s not fair! I was going to leave and so was he... and, and he would still be okay if… if it weren’t for that goddamn clown. And I just got him back, don’t take him away again! Please! No, no, no! Don’t take him away!  _

Instead of the fear Pennywise had wanted from Richie, he was hit with only the stench of depression, of sadness so potent he could taste it. It tasted like salt water. It tasted like tears. He cried out and thrashed around the spike through his midsection. He would not be taken down by mere  _ children.  _ He had spent twenty-seven years waiting for this moment and it wouldn’t be ruined!

Richie watched in shock as Eddie’s body was carelessly thrown into the cave the losers had entered from. He wanted to scramble to his feet, he wanted to be the first one Eddie saw when he opened his eyes again. But he couldn’t. He was frozen, like when he was in the deadlights, seeing Stanley’s corpse in the bathtub right in front of him. That same ice water chill ran down his spine as he helplessly watched the others dash to Eddie. Richie wanted to scream. He wanted to… he wanted to kill that fucking clown. More than he had before. More than nearly everything else. Everything except for saving Eddie.

The taste of tears got hotter— almost spicy, like the smell of a new book— and hotter until Pennywise felt like he was coughing up magma again. It was rage— bubbling and spewing out of Richie like a disease, like the one he had planted inside each of them twenty-seven years ago. 

When he managed to move again, Richie made a mad dash for the cave Eddie was thrown into. His mind moved like a car speeding in circles, and the thought “ _ Eddie  _ has  _ to be okay, _ ” was playing on loop. 

He listened to Eddie talk about killing the leper. Well, he didn’t  _ listen _ , per se, he just kind of stared at him while he spoke. His veins thrummed with fear when he saw black blood gushing out of the wound in Eddie’s chest. He hated that 

( _ he was helplessly watching the man he loves bleed out while he held him in his arms) _

the first thing his mind came up with was a joke about Gushers. He hated that stupid clown. He hated that Bill dragged them all here again. 

Pennywise could smell the rage coming from the cutout in the rocks, potent and nearly unbearable to stomach. Fear was much tastier. His legs were digging into the ground as he neared the Losers, his grin splitting his face in half menacingly. 

“ **I can smell the ** ** _stink _ ** **of your fear.** ” 

Richie’s body stiffened. 

_ No, no no. This can’t be happening. He can’t get us. No. He can’t. Eddie has to get stitched up and away from here. He can’t stay here or he’ll… he’ll… fuck, I can’t do this. _

Bev was talking now. It was probably something important, something big and bold that would make everything okay. She was always big and bold before, but people weren’t ready for women that were big and bold in the eighties. They preferred those who were meek and shy and had less self confidence than Richie himself. 

Before he knew it, the Losers were moving out through the back of the cavern. Bill moved to grab Eddie but Richie held his body close to his chest protectively. 

“Don’t worry, Big Bill. I got ‘im.” Richie hoped that his voice wasn’t wavering. He didn’t want Bill to worry about him, not when Eddie was in such an awful state. Against Richie’s wishes, Bill heard the waver in the man’s voice and he fretted. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm about in the middle of writing this which means my single brain cell is gonna go "aight, imma head out" at around the end of the next chapter


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie really, really, wanted to cup Eddie’s face in his hand or to lean in so that their lips were brushing against each other and tell him, “hey, you’re going to be okay,” without using any real words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the babie chapter ;-;

“Richie, I gotta tell you something…” The light in Eddie’s eyes was fading as he spoke. Richie leaned in, desperately clinging to every word that came out of the dying man’s mouth. His eyes went wide as he spoke. 

“What? What’s up, buddy?”

There was a beat of silence and Eddie smiled to himself.

“I fucked your mom.”

Richie managed to crack a smile— _ for Eddie’s sake_, he told himself. That smile faded when Eddie’s laughter turned into coughs that pushed more blood out of the gaping hole in his stomach. He put more pressure on the wound, hoping this would do more to help Eddie than to hurt him. Richie really, _ really, _wanted to cup Eddie’s face in his hand or to lean in so that their lips were brushing against each other and tell him, “_hey, you’re going to be okay_,” without using any real words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry these chapters have bits missing, i just don't know what to write for those scenes of the movie (and i'd rather explore parts of the movie that made me cry)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their hands were pushing, squeezing, tearing at the flesh of ITs heart. Richie looked over at the clown and felt a warm sort of satisfaction as IT was in pain. He wanted to shout at it, to scream and rave and say something like: "That's for Stanley, you piece of shit. That's for what you did to Eddie and what you did to all of those other kids."  
The Loser's hands were warm with blood as they mangled the muscle until it no longer beat in their hands. They looked up at one another, a beat of silence passing through the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i debated making the bit above its own chapter, but that seemed like a shitty thing to do, so i just put it as the summary for this chapter

“Eddie!” Richie remembered. Though, you don’t often forget the love of your life. Unless— of course— your memory is wiped by a child-eating clown demon or you’re in the process of killing it. “Eddie, Eddie.” He chanted as he made his way to the man, who was now lying limp on the ground where Richie left him. 

“Wake up, man. It’s us, man.” His hand was on Eddie’s face before any of the thoughts of it being wrong could creep in. He gently pressed his fingers against the bandage on Eddie’s cheek, trying not to hurt him. Richie pressed again with no reaction from him. Again. Again.  _ Again _ .

“Eddie?” 

Seeing Eddie’s lifeless body in front of her was horrifically depressing in and of itself, but while Beverly watched Richie struggle to grasp onto the reality that he was dead was possibly even worse. 

“Richie…” Her voice came out uncharacteristically weak, the sadness in her words unbearable for Richie. His hand was on Eddie’s face, trying to shake him awake. She sobbed; the little resolve she had left crumbling. 

“He’s gone.” Bill filled in, hoping that the hand he put on Richie’s shoulder was a comforting weight rather than an intolerable pressure. Bill felt himself shaking as he watched Richie continue to shake Eddie, hoping he would snap out of it and wake up already.

“He’s alright, no, he’s just hurt. We gotta get him out of here, he’s hurt. Ben, no, he’s okay. We gotta get him outta here, Bev—”

Richie was desperate, clutching to Eddie’s body like a lifeline as he spoke. He shrugged Bill’s hand off of his shoulder to get closer to Eddie. He knew that if Eddie was dead, he wouldn’t have anything to live for anymore. Sure, he had stand-up and that was… fine, he guessed, but knowing that Eddie was  _ right there  _ and now he was gone would tear him apart. 

“Richie…” Beverly’s voice was breaking as she heard the caves and tunnel systems around them collapsing. She knew she had to convince Richie that Eddie was dead, but how?

“What?” Richie snapped, not wanting to tear his gaze away from Eddie. He looked at her with pleading eyes, the kind that said, “please don’t tell me he’s gone, I know deep down that he’s gone but  _ please  _ don’t say it out loud…”

“... honey, honey, he’s dead.” Beverly’s face was streaked with tears and Richie entertained the thought that Eddie might not be fine. It hurt. It hurt too much to think of a world without him, so he didn’t. His thoughts were muddled with static, the only thing his brain could piece together was: “ _ Help Eddie. Get him out. _ ” 

_ Eddie is okay. He’ll be even okay-er when we get him out of this place. He hates the sewers; we have to get him out and help him and— _

Bill had a hand on his left arm and Ben had a hand on his right, pulling him away from Eddie’s corpse. 

_ No, no, no! Stop it, Bill! He’s alright, he’s okay! Eddie is okay and— _

“We can still help him, guys! Guys, we can still help him!” His thoughts poured out, a brain-to-mouth waterfall that he couldn’t stop. Not like Richie was ever known for shutting up. He reached out towards Eddie’s body, screaming and begging for them to let go so he could go back to save him.

_ You’re murdering him, guys! He’s still alright, he’s just really hurt! We can still help him, we can still help him, why won’t you listen? I love him, we can’t leave him!— _

“Guys, we can still help him!” Richie’s feet were swept out from under him as Bill and Ben dragged him away. He clawed at the arms on him, trying to escape, trying to get away, trying to get to Eddie.

Richie didn’t remember leaving the sewers. He didn’t remember leaving the house on Neibolt Street either. What he  _ did  _ remember was crying by the time he was standing on the street, still calling out, “Eddie! Eddie!” and turning to the others and practically screaming in their faces. “We can help him, he’s still in there!” 

Mike was holding his right arm now, trying to hold back the thrashing as Richie attempted to get loose, to go back in to get Eddie. 

“Eddie!” Richie watched the house crumble inwards, the splintered wood cracking and breaking as he watched his last chance to save Eddie slipping away. He shouted his name again in agony, his cracked glasses magnifying his bloodshot eyes. “Eddie!” 

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “See ya, losers!” Beverly called out, her arms pinwheeling as she glided through the air. Richie stood with his mouth agape, bewildered that a girl jumped before he did. All but one of the others stood with their mouths open as well, but that was because their thirteen-year-old brains viewed her as the pinnacle of sexual attraction. Richie wouldn’t admit it, but he saw Beverly as nothing more than a really attractive friend. But he didn’t take his eyes off of Beverly long enough to see that the only person that wasn’t staring at her was Eddie.
> 
> “What the fuck?!” 

The walk to the Quarry was long and painstakingly numb. It was about a mile— which would usually leave Richie’s legs aching due to years with barely any exercise— but he didn’t feel a thing. His brain was clouded and muddled, thoughts of _ Eddie, Eddie, Eddie _clawing their way to the forefront of his mind. 

He noticed the others had stopped and did the same, blankly staring forward as he took off his shoes and jacket. It was too familiar. The absence of Stanley and Eddie was not familiar, and it still felt like a weight on the shoulders of all of them. Beverly ignored the sign that read ‘_no jumping or diving at any time,’_— that wasn’t familiar either— and proceeded to climb over the fence— nor that— and jumped first. 

_ “See ya, losers!” Beverly called out, her arms pinwheeling as she glided through the air. Richie stood with his mouth agape, bewildered that a _ girl _ jumped before he did. All but one of the others stood with their mouths open as well, but that was because their thirteen-year-old brains viewed her as the pinnacle of sexual attraction. Richie wouldn’t admit it, but he saw Beverly as nothing more than a really attractive friend. But he didn’t take his eyes off of Beverly long enough to see that the only person that wasn’t staring at her was Eddie. _

_ “What the fuck?!” _

Richie didn’t feel like shouting out profanities this time. He didn’t feel like even mumbling. He looked more tired than usual, the bags under his eyes were prominent and dark and his hair lay matted on his forehead, sticky with sweat and

(_ Eddie’s blood _)

gray water. The others noticed but hadn’t said a word, afraid he would slip back to the mentality that Eddie was _ okay— _ that Eddie could still be _ saved _.

They had played at the Quarry all those years ago. They had climbed on each others’ backs and played chicken and swam and laughed as if they would live forever. How _ stupid _ were they to think that? How stupid was _ Richie _ to believe that— even after twenty-seven years of trying to grow up. Trying _ and failing _to grow up. Because It was a virus that had festered for all this time, and he could never really be happy. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Derry is calling you.” 
> 
> What bullshit. 

“ _ Derry is calling you _ .” 

What bullshit. 

Derry is bullshit. 

Mike Hanlon is bullshit. 

It’s all bullshit! This whole thing: bull-and-shit. It wasn’t Derry that was calling them back, it was Pennywise. If Derry was calling them back, it would’ve done something nicer than writing “COME HOME,” in the blood of a dead twenty-something-year-old. Derry would’ve given you a nice phone call and explained that they had to come back and it was important. Derry would’ve left out the part about the clown, though, because of course Derry would. It would be convenient of Derry to remind them. And it would be convenient of  _ Patritia Uris  _ to not send Stanley’s suicide note to Richie the day after he got back to Los Angeles. 

He looked like a wreck. Or— as his manager so eloquently put it— he looked like the only “old friend,” he visited was a weekend of smoking crack. The usual bags under his eyes had nearly tripled in weight. He almost wasn’t allowed on the plane with them because they wouldn’t fit under the seat in front of him. His hair was a mess of greasy tangles and the only reason he had washed it was to get Eddie’s blood out of it. Richie still felt the burn of tears behind his eyes whenever he thought of him.

Richie unceremoniously tore the envelope open and threw it on the ground. Looking back on that, Stanley and Eddie would have hated the mess. Despite wearing his glasses, Richie’s vision was blurred. He couldn’t focus on any of the words in the first paragraph of the note. Then he zeroed-in on a single line.

“ _ Be who you wanna be. Be proud _ .” 

God, Richie wished he could. He wished he could say that he liked guys and not vomit immediately afterwards. He wished he could admit it and not have the voice of Henry Bowers nudging at the back of his mind. Insisting that he was  _ a queer, a fairy, a good-for-nothing faggot _ . 

“ _ And if you find someone worth holding on to, never,  _ ever,  _ let them go. _ ”

He registered that the water on the page were tears at this point. He wanted to throw the

( _ suicide note _ )

letter in a fire and he wanted to never let it go at the same time. It was all he had left of Stanley, and Richie knew that he should be celebrating his life rather than mourning his death, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. All he could bring himself to do was to pick up his phone and dial Mike's number.

_ … ring… ring… ring…  _

_ click! _

_ “Hello, Michael Hanlon speaking.” _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really want to write more IT stuff in the future (preferably some fluffy stuff because my life is in the gutter right now, but who knows!)   
hope you enjoyed this short little... character... study... thing..? thank you for reading until the end! <3

**Author's Note:**

> ngl the beginning was based off of the book because when i read it i was like "lmao me too?? oh shit wait." 
> 
> also im hoping to write more from eddie's perspective because i too am a part of the emotionally abusive mom squad 👈🤡👈
> 
> ((uhhh,, feel like i should say this before someone get triggered in the comments but i use humor as a coping mechanism a lot and if you think im not taking it seriously im sorry that's just how i deal with depressing shit))


End file.
